Pain
by Karthenia
Summary: The only way to get the darkness out is to bleed.  Warnings for self-harm, violence, mild language, and mild m/slash.
1. Chapter 1

Originally written for a prompt on the livejournal Hetalia kink meme. See profile for links to prompt and original fill.

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><p>There's darkness inside me.<p>

Everyone says I'm small and innocent and weak, but there's darkness in me. I've felt it, curling in the pit of my stomach, twisting in my mind like a black serpent.

No, not black. Pale. Pale, with burning violet eyes. He's infected me. His every touch, his every word, his smile and his eyes and his madness have eaten into me until I wonder if I can ever get him out.

I feel the darkness mostly at night. I'm alone, no one else in the house with me. I'm not there, but the darkness is, and the moon is hidden. Everything's shadows except for the pale snake of madness. It hurts, squeezing my brain, eating me up from the inside.

There's a strangled, dying-animal noise, and I know it's me. I'm terrified of the darkness and the snake, and I know of only one way to make them leave me be, just for a night. Just some peace until morning.

There's darkness all around me as I crawl across the bed – why is it so big, it's like a sea of blankets, where's the edge – and find the nightstand with a sob or a whimper or both. I can never identify the sounds I make. My hands are sweaty, and the handle is slippery, but I somehow paw the drawer open.

Pathetic weak little vessel of darkness.

The drawer is empty but for one thing- a dagger. It's old, but still gleams even in the faint light of the stars.

Not here. Not where there will be bloodstains to explain away. My brothers will visit and see and wonder, and they can't know.

I climb out of bed. I'm not safer now that I'm armed. I creep to the bathroom like a criminal, step inside without turning on the light.

My clothing is too big, and it falls off me easily, lying in a pool on the floor. The tiny window in the wall lets in starlight, just enough to see faint shapes.

Draw aside the curtain.

Step into the tub.

Sit down.

The tub is cold, but I barely feel the chill. I'm always shaking; a little cold won't make it worse.

I sit back, back against the side of the tub. The point of the dagger rests against my upper arm. I push it forward, draw it back. Saw at my own flesh.

I keep the dagger sharp, and it's a single line of fire, neat and deep. The blood wells up and out, sliding across my skin, so warm, so smooth, life itself.

No, not life. The warmth, the silk, it's all a lie. Blood is raging, poisonous, it carries the darkness in it.

Darkness has to be finite. It has to be. If I just spill enough, if I bleed out enough darkness, the serpent will finally leave me be. My nightmares will go away. They'll go away again and stay away, if I can just bleed.

I cut again, lower. Higher. On my legs. I switch hands and slice my other arm. Arms, thighs, calves, wrists, stomach, no one will see. No one will care. I'm too weak to bother with. There's just little me and the darkness that's invisible to everyone else, and no one will see, or care if they saw.

The blood begins to collect in the tub, warm and sticky, the darkness clinging to me. I set the dagger gently on the floor and close my eyes. If I concentrate, I can feel the darkness drain from me, drop by bitter metallic drop.

Finally, a safer darkness claims me, and the next time I open my eyes, it's morning.

The tub is coated in half-dry and crusted blood. I climb to my feet, stiff and sore from sleeping that way. The cuts are all scabbed over. They ache, but I can ignore them. I have to.

I wash the tub until there's no blood left, then wash myself before dressing. I make my bed and straighten the room before going downstairs to make breakfast. The darkness curls in my stomach and makes it hard to eat, but I manage. I have to be prepared for the day. My duties are hard and exhausting, and there's no one else to do them for me.

The serpent coils in my mind, violet eyes dimmed. He's infected me, but I'm perfecting the cure. Someday, I'll bleed the last of it out.

The sun is shining. I debate finding time to visit my brothers.

Let the serpent sleep- I have work to do.


	2. Chapter 2

I'm sitting down to eat when there's a knock on the door. I'm not hungry, anyway, so I don't mind being interrupted. I go to the door and open it without checking to see who it is, because no one dangerous comes to see me.

Mikelis has lived down the road from me all his life. He's in his thirties now, and his wife Ilona makes him check up on me from time to time.

He's brought food from her, which is touching. I invite him in, but he has to go back to his family for supper. That's always been the problem with making friends- they all leave. I smile and thank him, and he goes away happy.

I learned a long time ago that no one really cares if I'm really all right. All they want to know is if I can fake a convincing smile. They go through the motions of being concerned and leave it at that. And part of what hurts is that it's the snake who taught me that. The serpent's the one who coached me, guided and taught me until no one cared to see that I'm smiling and screaming at the same time. It hurts to know the snake is right, because it taught me other things, too.

The madness is back. I set the basket from Ilona down on the table without looking inside. I will later, so I can pretend to have eaten some. I set it down and walk away from it.

The sun is still up, but the madness is calling.

It's a drug. The darkness, the pain, the bright red of blood on my skin- all of it's a drug, a dangerous concoction that's bound to kill me, except I can't die.

I shove anger at immortality aside. Immortality is my only chance to get rid of the snake for good.

The knife, the bathroom, the tub. The dying sunlight stains the walls red.

I do the same to my skin.

The light fades away.

So do I.

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><p>I wake to the sound of pounding on my door. It's dark, too dark to see, and I turn the light on. Blood is everywhere, but the tub will have to wait- I clean my hands and face and neck and put on clothes to cover the rest and go to the door.<p>

They're sorry to wake me, but my boss needs me.

I say I'll be there shortly and close the door in their faces.

I'm normally not that rude, but it's nighttime, the snake is coiling in me looking for an outlet, thirsting for blood other than my own, whispering in my mind to hurt them hurt them hurt them make them bleed like me.

I clean the rest of my body and leave the tub a bloody mess, dress myself in clean clothes and leave.

The snake can whisper all it wants- my blood is the only blood it will get.

My night ends there and I don't go home for the rest of the day. There's too much to be done, and I have no home, anyway.

Home is a word we use to fool ourselves into thinking there's a place we belong. A place we're always welcome, a place where we're loved and wanted and needed. Another thing the serpent taught me was that there's no such thing as home. Home is a dream. Reality is an empty house where I sleep. I can never belong as long as I carry the serpent with me everywhere I go, hissing in my ear, reminding me.

So I stay at work. I labor away, doing the work of men twice my size, and ignore the serpent's whispers.

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><p>It's late when I finally go back to my little house, my false home. It's empty, cold, dark- a void. Ilona's basket still sits untouched on the table. I open it, empty the contents and put them away. I eat a slice of apple cake so I can tell her how good it was and how I wish I can cook like her.<p>

There's a note in the bottom of the basket. The handwriting is neat and pretty, so I know Ilona wrote it.

_Little Raivis,_ it reads, _We would love to have you over for supper. It must be your birthday soon, and you work too hard. Take care of yourself._

She signed it 'love', as if she knows me well enough to love me. As if she might possibly love me if she knew me.

I clutch the little note in both hands, intending to tear it in half. Instead, I press it to my chest and close my eyes. I can smell flowers- Ilona's perfume.

It isn't until I sob, gasping quietly, that I realize I'm crying. I'm crying, and part of me wants to leave this empty house, run down the street and knock on the door and step into a home, a real home with real people who care for each other.

My knees tremble, and I let them buckle under me, falling to the floor, shaking with the force of my tears.

The home down the road belongs to Ilona and Mikelis and their children. It isn't my home. I have no home. There will never be a home that welcomes me. The serpent sees to that.

I curl up around Ilona's note, waiting for the tears to run dry. Then I stand, shaking, and make my way to the bathroom. The tub. The knife.

The only way to get rid of the darkness is to bleed it out. Someday, I'll bleed enough.

Until then, the knife is calling.


	3. Chapter 3

The problems with the meetings is that I can't use the knife while I'm there. I don't have time to clean out the hotel tub, and I can't leave blood behind to be explained. The knife sits in my bedside table, waiting patiently for me to return.

I tend to shake more than usual, to stutter more and generally be more afraid. Because the snake told me I'm small and useless and only here to be picked on, and the snake's been proven right before- why not this time? Who's to say the snake hasn't always been right? That everything it's told me isn't the truth?

After all, no one talks to me. My brothers say hello, but no one else even sees me. I'm invisible to them, until they need someone to pick on or to dump work on. I'm not important enough to see otherwise.

So I sit in my chair and keep my head down and shake, and stutter when I have to speak, which isn't often. Other people have more important things to say.

The meeting drags on and on until I think it's never going to end- I'm in Hell, and the meeting will drag on into eternity because I didn't manage to free myself of the darkness. I itch for the knife, to bleed out the darkness, any of it, even just a few drops. I slip my hand up my sleeve and feel the scabs there, slight raised sections on my arm and wrist. I pick one and start to pry at it, working my nail under it and pulling it back, feeling the faint, almost imaginary pain of the scab pulling free of skin, and then the gentle brush of blood running across my skin.

The slow leak of blood and darkness calms me somewhat and lets me get through the rest of the meeting, which does eventually end. I quickly gather my things, hoping to duck out unnoticed in the confusion. I need to bleed more.

A hand touches my shoulder- I yelp like a frightened puppy and turn, staring up at England. England is small compared to some, but not nearly as small as me. His face is aligned in a frown, and he takes my hand, lifting it and inspecting my fingers.

My fingers are smudged with blood. Faint, dried, but still there. On the sides and fingertips, under the nails.

"Did you hurt yourself, Latvia?" He asks in an oddly worried tone.

"J-just a scr-ratch." I lie, smiling for him. A shaky smile, but a smile that satisfies everyone. "O-o-on m-my arm. It's n-not th-hat b-bad."

England's look says he's unconvinced, but he lets me go. "You should go wash that off." He says. "Are you joining the rest of us for drinks?"

I nod, then shake my head. "Y-yess-sir." I say. "N-no, sir."

England smiles. It's friendly and warm and inviting. "You don't have to call me sir, Latvia." He tells me, and his voice is friendly and warm, too. "We're all of us equals here."

I nod and turn away. "I h-have to g-go." I tell him. "I-I'll see y-you l-later." I hurry away before he can stop me, walking quickly, keeping my bloody hand hidden in my sleeve.

Stupid. Stupid stupid stupid. I should know that people get curious when they see blood. I can only hope he doesn't pry too deeply.

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><p>The next day, as I slip into the room and take my seat, England is watching me. He's frowning, in a thoughtful way, and it makes me nervous. I try my best to ignore it, but being noticed is a bad thing. England wants something from me now, I can tell. And a powerful nation like him won't have to pretend to play nicely like my brothers do.<p>

The meeting drags on. Again. I wish I dare pull another scab off, let myself bleed a little more, but England is watching too closely. All his attention seems to be on me. I want to be invisible again. I'm too weak otherwise.

I manage to resist picking at the scabs, somehow. I manage not to bleed a single drop the entire meeting- I just sit there and shake. I don't have to talk today- no one expects or wants me to.

Again the meeting ends, and England stands and starts walking towards me, but I'm prepared. I pack the last of my things and hurry to the door, out of it, to freedom. I almost make it.

England grabs my arm before I've gone a dozen steps down the hall.

"I'd like to talk to you, Latvia." He says.

I swallow and nod and try not to shake too much as he pulls me back into the hall. We stand to one side as the rest of the nations leave.

When the last of the stragglers is gone, England takes my hand and pulls my sleeve back, inspecting my arm. It's covered with fading scars, healing scabs, fresh cuts. I yank my hand free and pull my sleeve to cover it, but it's too late. He's already seen.

"Just a scratch?" He asks, throwing my words from yesterday back in my face. "You're a terrible liar, Latvia." He reaches into his bag and pulls something out, pressing it into my hand.

A small tube of anti-bacterial cream and a thin roll of gauze.

"I know it's hard, Latvia, but you can't do this to yourself." England says. I look up and he looks down, our eyes meet, and I find I can't look away. "These self-destructive tendencies don't help anything."

He doesn't have hold of me, so I turn and I run. I run all the way to my hotel, past the elevator and up the stairs, to my room. I fumble the key out and the door open.

Someone knows.

England. England knows, knows my shame, my secret. He saw my arm, the cuts. I can't hide behind my smile anymore, not with him.

My knees are shaking, and I let them buckle under me, sliding down the door. He's wrong. He has to be. Bleeding myself has to help, or I'll be cursed with the darkness and the whispering serpent forever.

I stumble to my feet, find my way to the bathroom. I pull off my jacket, my shirt, but there's no knife and I can't stop a hopeless sob from welling up and escaping.

I sink to the floor and stare at my hand, still holding the medicine and the gauze.

Almost mechanically, I spread the cream over the cuts and slowly wrap the gauze over them. I set the tube aside, bury my face in my hands, and cry.

It helps.


	4. Chapter 4

I can feel England's eyes on me, even when he's not in the room, following me. I hear his voice in the back of my mind, almost as if he's arguing with the serpent. _Cut – it won't help – cut – it won't help – bleed the darkness out – it doesn't help anything_, around in circles behind my polite smile and my shaking.

The urge to bleed, the need to get rid of the darkness, remains. I lie awake and stare at the ceiling, running my hand along the bandages on my arm. I can't feel the cuts- only the edges of the gauze, catching on the callouses on my fingers, shifting against my skin almost hypnotically. It's comforting in a way, and frightening.

No one is supposed to know. The darkness is my own private shame, it's not there for other people to look at, to know I let the darkness in and let it consume me. But now England knows, and I can't rewind time or make him forget. He will always know.

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><p>I finally return to Latvia, to my home. There's another note from Ilona on my door, saying I work too hard and I should come over someday soon. She always seems to worry over me. I don't know why. It's not as if I'm worth her worry.<p>

I step inside, lay the note on the table. I walk through my empty house to the empty bedroom and open the nightstand drawer. The knife is waiting, just like always, but I hesitate to pick it up.

_It doesn't help anything._ England whispers in my mind, and I remember the feeling of his hand on mine, touching my arm, the burn of his eyes on the cuts and the way he watched me.

It's almost like the serpent, but the serpent's heat is painful. This new heat, the heat of England's eyes, is... warm. Almost... gentle.

_No one cares for you, little Latvia._ The serpent reminds me, laughing inside my skull. _Only me. Only I could ever love you, don't you know that?_

Of course I know. England is just toying with me. He doesn't care. Or he thinks it's his duty as my elder to take care of me, treat me like a weak child.

My fingers close around the handle of the knife. It feels cold. Uncaring. I lift it out and study it. It's an old knife, so old it would be perfectly acceptable as part of a museum exhibit. I remember when it was new. When it first spilled blood.

Now the only blood it spills is mine.

I walk to the bathroom, pull of my shirt, and look down at my arm, still covered in the bandages England gave me.

I'm weak. I'm weak, because I want to tear the bandages off and slice my arm to ribbons. I want to scream. I want to cry. I want to throw the knife away and run away, run across Europe and swim to that lone country that's still so great, even now.

Part of me remembers a feeling of warmth and belonging, of being wanted and happy and proud. The serpent told me I imagined it all, that none of it really happened and I'm too weak to want to remember it correctly, but dammit, I can remember it! I can remember being tired and full and happy, curled up in someone's arms and learning to read, to do sums, and being loved!

I don't realize what I'm doing until I look down at my arm, at the spreading blood on the nice clean bandages, and the pain starts.

I pull the knife out of my arm and pull aside the bandages, staring at the blood welling up. I've bled myself before, but never stabbed myself, not like this, and I'm scared. Scared of my blood and the darkness in it, scared of the pain and being alone.

I press my hand over the wound, but the blood wells up between my fingers, hot and smooth, and the pain just keeps building.

My legs move almost of their own will. I find a towel, cover my arm, and stumble out of the bathroom, to the telephone. I don't know what I'm doing. There's no one I can call but my brothers, and I don't want them to see me like this. I don't want them to know about the darkness, and I'm scared that if they know, they won't want to be my brothers anymore.

Somehow, my mind finds a number, and my fingers dial it. There's static and ringing, and I bite down hard on my lip as the line clicks active.

"Hello?" The voice on the other end sounds tired, angry, and I can't answer. I try to hang up, but can't move. "Hello?" There's a pause, then- "Latvia?"

I sob, unable to help myself. "E-Engl-land, I'm s-scared."

Indistinct noises on the other end for a moment. "What's wrong?" England asks, and his voice sounds so genuinely concerned that I sob harder. "Latvia, what's happened?"

"I'm s-sc-cared." I repeat, sinking to the floor, cradling the phone in both hands in an effort to keep it steady. "P-please, I... I d-don't know w-what..." I trail off into a sob, closing my eyes.

"What's frightening you?" England asks gently, so gentle and calm and caring. "It's all right, Latvia, tell me what's got you scared."

"I... I don't..." I say haltingly, not sure how to answer. Why am I scared? How can I put it into words, words England can understand?

"Take your time, Latvia." England says soothingly. He's always so distant when I see him that the softness of his voice takes me by surprise. "Calm down first of all, and then tell me. It's all right."

I nod, belated realize how stupid that is, and flush in embarrassment. "Y-yes, sir." I take deep breaths, concentrating on the faint thud of my heart in my chest, the blood running down my arm. These trousers are ruined- I'll have to get rid of them now. "I'm s-sorry, I j-just... I d-didn't know who else to c-call, I-"

"It's fine, Latvia." England says. "I don't mind. I'd rather you call me than be frightened on your own."

I nod. Why do I keep nodding when I know I'm on the phone? "England... I don't... I..." The serpent hisses in the back of my mind, laughing at me, so weak and helpless. Too weak to even ask for help, even though I'm so weak I need it.

"It's all right, Latvia." England says gently. His voice, his understanding and care, even if it's just acting- they push the serpent back, silence it for now.

"England, I h-hurt m-mys-self." I confess, gripping the phone tightly. It's slippery with blood. How much blood have I lost? "I'm b-bleeding."

There's silence on the other end, then faint noises, what sounds like muffled talking. "Latvia, are you at home?" England asks. "Stay there, do not move- I'm coming. All right? Just hold on."

The line goes silent, and I hang the phone up, staring at my hands. They're coated red. There's blood soaking into the rug under me. The towel is as destroyed as my trousers. Such a mess. I tell myself I should clean up the blood, make myself presentable, but my body refuses to move. I lean back against the wall and close my eyes, remembering England's eyes on me. I'll just rest for a minute.

England is coming for me. Everything is all right. I don't know how, but I want to believe that England at least won't lie to me. That if England says it's all right, it must be true. Somehow.


	5. Chapter 5

I wake to warmth and the soft, steady beating of someone else's heart.

I wonder for a long moment if I'm still dreaming. I can feel a body next to mine, and I'm afraid that when I open my eyes, that body will disappear.

"Don't even think of pretending you're not awake."

My eyes open against my will, and I look up to find myself staring at England, who is holding me in his arms and smiling sadly down at me.

"Feeling better?" He asks softly, and I nod slowly. "Good. I'm glad you called."

"I'm s-sorry..." I apologize automatically, but he shakes his head.

"Don't." He says, laying a finger on my lips. It's thin and calloused and rough. Warm. Real. "You've nothing to apologize for."

"But-"

"Don't." He repeats. "And don't move much- you've lost a great deal of blood. I'll go make you some tea."

He shifts me off his lap, and I look around. We're in my bedroom, on my bed. It's evening, to judge by the light out the window. I'm wrapped in a blanket, dressed in new, blood-free clothing. I pull the sleeve back and stare at the new bandages on my arm, stained red but no longer torn, no longer ragged and putting the wound on display. Hiding my shame.

_It's not hidden from him._ The serpent reminds me, and I can see its wide smile, its empty eyes. _He knows now. He's toying with you. He'll use you up, too, you know._

I bite my lip, yanking the sleeve back down and pulling the blanket tighter around my shoulders. Just ignore it. Ignore the stupid snake and believe the fantasy for now. I'm too tired for reality.

England returns after a few minutes with a tray and sets it on the bedside table. "There- some nice warm tea will help."

I nod, leaning back against the headboard. Tea will help. "Y-you d-don't have to s-stay." I tell him softly. I don't want him to leave, but he has better things to do than hover over me.

"I want to." England says, then laughs when I simply stare at him. "I want to." He repeats. "You shouldn't be alone now, Latvia- let me care for you."

I look down, biting my lip while the serpent hisses in my ear, but I have no right to question what England does, and I don't say anything further, accepting the cup of tea.

It's warm and soothing and tastes faintly of mint, and my mind links the taste to England. I close my eyes and enjoy it. I haven't enjoyed tea in a very long time.

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><p>England stays that night and most of the next day. He refuses to let me get up, insisting I stay in bed and let him nursemaid me. I decide this is a game of some sort, that he just wants someone to mother, and that makes me feel a bit better. I don't want to be a burden to him, and I'm less of one if he enjoys it.<p>

He leaves the next evening, telling me to call him if I need him. I nod and promise I will, but silently vow not to. My weakness isn't England's problem- I'll handle it myself.

When at last he's gone and I'm alone, I go back to my bedroom and stare at my bed. The side dips slightly from where England sat. The spot is already cold, and soon it will be gone, as though it and he were never there.

No one ever stays.

I sigh, grabbing the blankets and pulling them smooth, then turn away from it. England won't be coming back. I can't let him. I have to be strong and face the darkness alone.

I go to the table and pull open the drawer, reaching for the knife, but the drawer is empty.

I panic for a moment before remembering- I left it in the bathroom yesterday. I hurry there, but the blood is gone, the knife is nowhere to be found. I bite my lip for a moment, thinking of the other knives in my kitchen, the ones I use for cooking. I don't like the thought of bleeding myself with them, but if England's taken my knife... I have to bleed. I have to get the darkness out of me.

I walk slowly to the kitchen, open the knife drawer.

On top of the knives in a note.

_You promised you'd call me._ The note admonishes, in England's neat, sharply formed handwriting. _Don't break promises to me, I'll swim to Latvia and let you have it. If you want that knife back, come see me._

I bite my lip, look between the note and the knives.

England... England is strong. England never belonged to the darkness. He has no idea what it's like, how it eats at me. He's never listened to the serpent whisper late at night, lived with its hissing and the constant laugh, the endless stream of talk and insults and reminders. He doesn't know.

Or does he?

I hesitate, hand outstretched. I'm shaking. No surprise there, I always shake. Maybe even in my sleep. Could England know?

Maybe he does know. Maybe the serpent came to him, the darkness burrowed in, and when he chased it out, it came to me.

_Or maybe he wants you to suffer, hmm?_ The serpent suggests. _Maybe he's lying to you, toying with you, trying to make you torture yourself._

My fingers close around a knife, lift it out. I study the blade, short and sturdy, and do something I've never dared to before- I disagree.

"Or m-maybe y-you are."


	6. Chapter 6

The serpent is silent a long moment. It doesn't seem to have a response to that. I've come to think of it as all-knowing, and it surprises me to discover even it can be caught by surprise.

_But Latvia,_ it croons at me, _you know I love you. I would never do such awful things._

"Y-you a-always tell me I'm s-stupid and w-worthl-less." I point out. I've always meekly accepted that as the truth, but England isn't the type to waste time on useless people. "You alw-ways say t-terrible things."

_They're only the truth._ The serpent says, and my grip tightens on the knife. _Such a stupid little boy. You're only choosing to hurt yourself. I want what's best for you. I care about you, Latvia._

Well, it has a funny way of showing it.

I close my eyes. Breathe deeply. Ignore the serpent. I lower the knife, place it back in the drawer. It takes a minute to force my fingers to let go.

* * *

><p>I don't touch a knife again for three more days, not even to cook. I survive by eating the food from Ilona, forgotten in the cupboards until now. Ilona has always looked out for me in a way. She's a nice lady.<p>

All three days are a living hell. I can feel the darkness inside me growing, but there must be a way to get rid of it without bleeding myself. There has to be.

The serpent whispers in my ear how this is what England wants- I didn't hurt this much when I bled. England is somewhere in London laughing at me, laughing at poor stupid gullible Latvia.

It's added gullible to its list of insults to hurl at me. How gullible I am, to fall for such an obvious trick, even when the serpent was kind enough to warn me.

Three long days of pain and fighting with myself, and I'm standing in front of the drawer again, holding a knife in my hand. The blade catches the sunlight from the window, gleaming seductively along its curve, beckoning to me. I haven't gone to work today, so lazy and stupid and ungrateful. Probably nobody's missed me. No reason for anyone to notice if I'm there or gone.

I sigh, setting the knife on the counter, next to England's letter. I touch the paper, and it feels real, but part of me wonders if I'm only fooling myself. If England really wrote me this note, if he told me everything is okay, if I ever spoke to him at all. Or is it four days ago and I'm lying bleeding next to the phone, hallucinating?

The knife is back in my hand.

I frown at it, put it down, but as soon as my attention wanders, I've picked it up again. The handle feels warm against my fingers.

I lift my other hand, watch the too-big sleeve slide down my arm. It looks like a weak arm, thin and covered in scabs and scars. It can't possibly belong to anyone strong and worthwhile.

The blade, when I press it to my skin, feels cold.

I'm trembling.

Scared.

_England, I'm scared._

I can hear the serpent laugh, see the amusement in its large violet eyes, urging me on. _Go on, cut, cut the skin, cut the muscle, right down to the bone, watch yourself bleed, do it, do it, do it do it do it doit doit doitdoitdoit!_

The thing inside me is shrieking, screaming, its words running together and bleeding into nonsense.

The knife slips sideways.

Blood wells up in the cut, not too deep, not deep enough to satisfy the serpent, so I cut myself again.

More blood, like a drug, feeding an addiction that hurts no matter what.

Blood winds down my arm, collecting in my sleeve and soaking into the fabric.

Blood drips off my wrist onto England's note and the counter and the drawer of knives.

Blood drips off the knife in my hand and spatters on the floor, brilliant red against the wood.

Blood. My blood. Full of darkness.

Worthless.

I cut myself again and again, mechanically, just a machine. I can't feel it. I'm numb.

I barely hear the door open. There are voices, voices I should know but can't place. I don't understand what they're saying.

Part of me wants to resist when hands grab me, take the knife from me, press something over my wrist, but I can't find the strength.

Warm arms around me, but somehow they feel wrong. Too big, too long, too warm.

The edges of my vision darken. My kitchen hazes over, clears, hazes again. I feel so weak, so warm. Something's wrong this time.

"_Anglija ..._" England...

Am I speaking or thinking? I can't tell. My lips move, but I don't know if I'm hearing my voice or my thoughts echo his name, as though calling on God.

"_Anglija, man palīdzēt. Man palīdzēt._"

Help me.


	7. Chapter 7

I wake to the sound of strange voices and beeping machines. My head feels stuffed full of wool, and my limbs feel too heavy to lift.

It's an effort to open my eyes, but I manage it, and there's the sound of something falling over nearby before someone's standing over me.

"Toris, he's awake!" Estonia exclaimed, touching my cheek, running his hand through my hair as something else falls over – I recognize the clatter of a wooden chair against cheap linoleum this time – and Estonia is joined by Lithuania.

"Raivis, how do you feel?" Lithuania asks, laying his hand on my shoulder. "We've been so worried."

"Why?" It's a simple question on the surface, but it's so much more complicated than that, one word asking a million things.

Estonia and Lithuania look at each other, lost for words for the moment, and I sigh and close my eyes again.

"I'm fine." I tell them. "You don't need to worry about me."

"Raivis, you tried to kill yourself." Lithuania says softly. "That's plenty of reason to worry."

"You nearly gave your neighbors heart attacks." Estonia adds. "They said there was blood everywhere when they found you."

I keep silent. It's not my fault Mikelis and Ilona worry so much over me. I don't ask them to.

"Raivis, talk to us." Lithuania urges. "Tell us what's wrong. Please." I shake my head. "Raivis, we promised to be brothers, didn't we? Brothers don't keep secrets from each other."

That makes me flinch, which moves my arm, which feels as though it's suddenly caught fire.

"Your boss is worried sick." He continues. "You've been acting strange for months, he says- you've even been skipping work, and that's not like you. Let us help, Raivis."

"I don't need help."

"Yes, you do!" Lithuania raises his voice slightly. He does that when he feels righteous. "You're in the hospital, Raivis! You're covered with cuts, and don't lie and say you didn't do this to yourself!"

"I don't need help!" I raise my voice right back, something I've never done before. I'm too tired, in too much pain, and I just want them to go away and let me sleep, let me run away like the coward I am and hide forever. "I don't n-need your help, a-and I don't e-even want it! J-just go away!"

There's silence, and I open my eyes to find them both staring at me as though I'm a changeling. Estonia fidgets nervously as the seconds tick by, and I bite my lip to keep from taking it back.

"Fine." Lithuania says at last, shattering the silence around us. "If you're that hell-bent on destroying yourself, I don't suppose there's any way we can stop you."

"You walk out of this room, you'll regret it."

The voice comes from the doorway, a voice that's played over and over in my head for weeks now, and I turn my head to stare. What's England doing here? How did he even know where to find me?

"England, this doesn't concern you." Estonia says. "This is a family matter."

"No, it bloody well isn't." England snaps, striding up to the bed. "It stopped being a family matter when the family couldn't handle it." He looks down at me and sighs. "Why didn't you call me?"

I expect to see anger in his eyes, or disappointment, but it isn't there. Just a sad understanding.

"Why would he call you?" Lithuania asks. "Why not us?"

"Why not ask him?" England suggests, and I panic for a moment before he lays his hand on mine, giving it a light squeeze.

I turn my arm and cling to England's hand, looking up at Lithuania and Estonia. "I d-didn't want you to know." I tell them, closing my eyes. "A-about the s-serpent, the d-darkness- I didn't want anyo-one to know."

The silence gets heavier. It seems to eat up even the sounds of the hospital around us.

"I'm s-so-"

"I'm sorry." Lithuania says. "I'm so sorry, Raivis. I must not be much of an older brother to you."

"Don't you start." England says, snorting. "There's no blame to be laid here, so don't try. Point is you know now. Isn't there a better hospital he can be moved to?"

I shake my head. There's only one hospital my boss would allow me to be left in, and I'm pretty sure I'm in it. "Th-this is the b-best in Riga."

"Well, it's rubbish." England says, letting go of my hand. "I'll be back- you two stay put."

His footsteps move away, and I brace for the accusations and yelling. The serpent is strangely quiet, but it must know my brothers will handle the insults and jibes.

But they never come. Estonia goes to right the chairs, and Lithuania adjusts the blanket over me and brushes a hand through my hair.

"Go to sleep, Raivis." He whispers, kissing my forehead. "We'll be here when you wake."

I nod, not sure what else to do. I think sleep will be impossible, but I find myself nodding off in next to no time. It's strange to fall asleep knowing someone's with me.

Strange, but comforting.


	8. Chapter 8

Lithuania and Estonia are still there when I wake. Estonia is asleep, leaning against Lithuania's shoulder. England is nowhere in sight as I sit up slowly, biting my lip. My arm still burns, and it hurts like fury to move it.

Lithuania slips out from under Estonia, careful not to wake him, and walks over. "How are you feeling?" He whispers.

"Okay." I say, sighing. "I'm s-sorry. A-about the things I said." Last night? Earlier? I'm not sure.

Lithuania reaches out, touching me hair, then my face, then he hugs me. It's a tight, almost suffocating hug- Lithuania is stronger than he looks. In so, so many ways. I sit there and he stands there, hugging me, for a long moment.

Then I start to cry.

Not hysterically. Not loudly. No heartbroken sobs, no pitiful hiccuping, just tears rolling down both cheeks, and I close my eyes and lift my good arm, hugging him back.

"I love you, Latvia." Lithuania whispers, stroking my back soothingly. "You're my little brother, and I love you, and we can work through this. Just let us help you."

I realize belatedly that Lithuania is crying, too. Lithuania never cries. He freaks out and he gets worried over nothing and he shoulders the burdens life thrusts on him, but he never cries.

This is important. I'm not sure how or why, but I am sure that it is. That Lithuania crying is so important, so significant, that the world has stopped for a minute just so I can realize it.

For a long time, Estonia stays curled up in his chair, and Lithuania and I hold each other and cry.

* * *

><p>It seems like ages later when England returns. Estonia is awake now, and he and Lithuania are talking to each other while I pretend to sleep. But there's no mistaking England's footsteps, and I immediately open my eyes and turn toward the door, and when I see him, I smile.<p>

England smiles back before becoming all business again, turning to Lithuania. "I'm having Latvia moved." He says. "Back to his house. I've an in-home nurse lined up to see to his arm and be sure he recovers."

Lithuania sighs. "I'm not sure if he can afford that, England."

"I'll cover the costs." England says, crossing his arms over his chest. "He needs it."

"How would you know?" Estonia demands. "You hardly know Latvia- how do you know so well what he does and doesn't need?"

There's a fight brewing, I can tell, and part of me wants to crawl under the bed and hide, because when there's a fight, someone always turns to me. I don't want to be involved. I don't want to be told to take a side. To turn against one of them.

"Both of you, stop it!" Lithuania yells, getting between Estonia and England. "I'll tell you one thing Latvia doesn't need right now, and that's you two fighting over who gets to decide his fate!"

Estonia looks surprised. I've always been closest to Estonia, much closer than either of us has ever been to Lithuania, and I think he feels he has claim to me in some way. "Lithuania-"

"No." England says. "He's right. Latvia has the final say. He's an adult, and we'd do well to start treating him as such."

Estonia mutters something under his breath and turns to look at me. I drop my eyes to my lap, avoiding his gaze. I don't want to be the center of attention.

Seconds tick by in silence, broken by the faint sounds from the rest of the hospital. It stretches into a minute, then longer- no one wants to be the first to speak. Probably no one knows what to say.

Finally, I can't bear it any longer, because the serpent is stirring.

"I w-want to g-go ho-ome."

* * *

><p>Finally it's agreed that England's nurse can come to stay with me until my arm is healed, and the doctors let me leave. I tip them more than I can really afford, but then I always do. They need it more than I do.<p>

The doctors give Estonia and Lithuania pamphlets and booklets to take home. They give me a list of numbers and addresses, people I can call and places I can go. They say it'll help.

It won't.

England's nurse is a pretty woman. She's Latvian- I assumed she would be British. For some reason, I'm touched by that little fact; we share a common language and culture, and all of my people feel familiar to me. Her name is Valerija Balodis, she was born in Vilaka, and she talks endlessly in a bright voice. I don't mind- it make the serpent harder to hear.

The days pass slowly at first- Valerija keeps me confined to my bed and does everything for me. Estonia and Lithuania visit me every day, sometimes together and sometimes separately.

My arm heals, and Valerija lets me do more for myself. I return to my duties, and my boss hugs me and tells me I must always feel as though I can speak to him if I'm upset or in trouble.

The wounds become angry new scars. Valerija doesn't do as much, but she still stays. I'm grateful to have her.

* * *

><p>A week before she is supposed to collect her severance and return to Vilaka, Valerija finds me sitting on my windowsill staring outside.<p>

"You could call him." She says, walking over and sitting in the chair by the window. "Your English friend."

I shake my head. "H-he has imp-portant things to do."

"More important than you?" She challenges. I nod, and she laughs, standing and hugging me. "Oh, little Raivis, nothing is more important than friends." She admonishes. "Perhaps he has not come because he does not want to push you. He is only waiting for you to say you are ready."

I sigh. I want to tell her that she doesn't iunderstand/i, that I'm worthless and England's time is wasted on me, that the most I am is a charity project and he must be bored with me by now. Instead, I lean against her and close my eyes and sigh again.

For the first time since coming home from the hospital, I think of the knife.


	9. Chapter 9

Valerija leaves me. The tiny house feels huge and empty without her voice to fill it up.

Days pass. Estonia and Lithuania stop visiting daily- now they call. They go back to their lives, back to things more important than me.

The serpent stirs in my mind. I call England, and we talk until the serpent is quiet again, about trivial things and things related to work. I feel better when we hang up.

A few days later, I find myself in the kitchen, staring at my drawer of knives. They've all been carefully washed, scrubbed free of any sign of blood. I think of the release of picking one up and digging the edge into my skin.

I close the drawer and collect my coat. It's evening and cool as I leave the house, tucking my hands into my pockets and walking down the street, stopping in front of a house. Mikelis's house. It looks warm and inviting, with children playing in the yard and light glowing in the windows.

One of the children leaves off her game and trots over, a sturdy child four or five years old at the oldest. "Hello." She says, very seriously, as though this is the most important thing in her little world. "You're Papa's friend. Right?"

"Yes." I tell her, nodding. "My name is Raivis. What's yours?"

"Monika." She says. "Come on- Papa's inside with Mama." She takes my hand and tugs me along like a little Queen of the World, marching past her siblings and up to the door, pushing it open. "_Papa! Your friend is here!_"

Mikelis comes down the steps, drying his hands on a cloth, and Ilona comes out of the kitchen with flour on her apron. I'm intruding. They're getting ready for supper, they don't want visitors, I should go-

Ilona's face breaks into a huge, welcoming smile, stilling my doubts with its brilliance. "Raivis!" She exclaims happily, hurrying over and hugging me. "Are you joining us for supper? I'll set an extra place. Here, here, off with your coat- Monika, let Raivis take his coat off."

Mikelis smiles as well, lifting Monika with one arm and kissing her forehead soundly. "Don't bother trying to argue." He advises me. "Once Ilona decides she's feeding you, you're being fed."

I smile back, hesitantly. It's a small smile, an uncertain one, but it's genuine. The serpent is silent as I slip off my coat and hang it by the door. It doesn't stir all through the meal, and I manage to share a conversation with one of the older children, who wants to work in the government when he grows up.

I help Ilona clean up after the meal, basking in the warmth of her delight and approval. As I prepare to leave, she presses a bag of pastries on me and insists I come back whenever I'm hungry.

I go home and wander through my house. After the noise of supper and the press of bodies, the rooms should seem echoingly empty, dark and dead. The serpent should remind me I'm an outsider, that I don't belong.

It remains silent.

I ready myself for bed and crawl under the covers, staring up at the ceiling for a long moment before I realize why.

Even if the serpent did speak up, I wouldn't believe it. And we both know it.

* * *

><p>More time passes, as time has a habit of doing. I go about my life, letting things move at their own pace. The time comes for another meeting.<p>

Always before, I dreaded these times. The endless stretch of days without the knife, without daring to release. This time, as the date draws nearer, I find myself looking forward to it. I find I'm eager to go. To see England again.

All my years alone, all the years knowing England but never really speaking to him, make it odd that I would want so much to see him. That I would crave his company, call him without prompting, just to say hello. Odd that England would call me and ask if I might spare an extra day before the meeting just to visit. Odd that I accept without hesitating.

The meeting is in America this year, but I don't go straight there from Riga. I take a plane to Stockholm instead, then another from there to London, where England is waiting for me.

He smiles, and I smile. He holds out a hand, and I take it. He squeezes my fingers lightly, reassuringly, as we leave the airport.

For once, there is no pressure on us. We don't need to act professional. No one is watching over our shoulders, waiting for us to do something wrong. For all the people around us care, we're simply two young men of no importance, doing unimportant things.

England takes me to his flat. I change my clothing and leave my bag in his room, and he takes me down the street to a pub that's obviously a regular haunt of his.

We find a table in the corner and sit across from each other. He orders a beer and asks me what I want, giving me a skeptical look when I ask for the same.

"I lived with R-Russia." I remind him, smiling. "I can hold my alcohol."

He shrugs. "Well, you'll have the plane trip tomorrow to sleep off your hangover." He says, then smiles. "You're doing much better."

"Am I?" I ask. It's true I haven't bled myself in months now, but the urge is still there. The serpent is still inside me.

"You are." England insists. "Your colour's better, and you seem happier."

"Th-thank you." I say, flushing slightly with happiness. "England, can I ask you something?"

The waitress brings us our beers, and England picks his up, nodding. "Ask all you want."

"Why did you notice me?" I ask, sipping my own drink. "A-and why did you care?"

England goes still for a moment, then sighs, setting his beer down, and rolls up his sleeve.

The scars are old, faint, barely visible. They're a network of thin white lines across his arm, from a few centimeters above his wrist to where they disappear under his sleeve again.

"My brothers were hard on me." He says quietly. "I wasn't strong enough for it at times. At first it was just to feel I had some control over my own pain. Then it became habit. Then it became an addiction."

England did know. He faced the darkness and the serpent. But none of the scars were recent- he'd fought them off.

"Eventually, Wales caught on." England continued, rolling his sleeve back down. "Beat the daylights out of me for it, then helped me. He weened me off it, showed me how pointless it was. A bit before the wars, I broke the habit for good, and now here I am."

I stare at him, not sure what to say. There are no words- the memories and scars and pain can't be addressed directly. Not that way. I reached across the little table, laying my hand on his.

"Thank you."

I can feel the tears in my eyes. I don't want to cry here, in front of England and his friends. I want to be as strong as he is.

England turns his hand under mine, clasping it. "Thank _you_." He says. "For being strong enough to let me help."

I lean over the table, shaking, and sob. There's so much I want to say, so much I want to tell him, but I can't find the words.

I don't need to.

And that's what makes everything all right.

* * *

><p><em>The alarm clock blared from the bedside table, a loud, steady succession of beeps, until a hand worked free of the duvet and slammed down on it. The beeping cut off abruptly, and one of the lumps on the bed moved.<em>

_"Time to get up." Raivis said, nudging the other lump with a yawn._

_The other lump cursed inventively for a few minutes and refused to move._

_"I warned you not to try and outdrink me." Raivis reminded him, climbing off the bed. "You'll miss your plane home."_

_"Then I'll bloody well stay here." Arthur grumbled, burrowing further under the covers. "So there."_

_Raivis smiled, yanking the duvet back, and kissed Arthur's temple. "Up." He said. "I'll go fix something for your head."_

_Arthur grumbled some more, pulling Raivis down and kissing him full on the mouth. "Do that."_

_Raivis smiled, standing again and hurrying to the kitchen. For Arthur's first Jāņi festival, it hadn't gone half bad, and Raivis had learned to expect Arthur's hangovers._

_As he bustled about getting ready for the day, Raivis didn't spare a single thought to darkness, knives, or imaginary snakes in the back of his mind._


End file.
